The Cost of Silence and the Price of Protection: Why Survivors Can’t Trust the System
- Shannon Brown
- Jun 7
- 5 min read
Updated: Jun 8
We are taught from a young age that the justice system exists to protect the innocent and punish the wicked.
But for anyone who has ever survived sexual violence, domestic abuse, or childhood trauma, that narrative feels like a cruel joke.
The truth is laid bare in front of us every day: our system does not protect the vulnerable. It protects the powerful, the manipulative, and those who know how to work the margins.
Look no further than high-profile national scandals like the Jeffrey Epstein files. Years after massive, sprawling networks of abuse were brought to light, the public is left watching a masterclass in institutional evasion. Names are redacted, footprints are covered, and the ultra-wealthy and politically connected walk away with their reputations and freedom intact. No one at the top is truly held accountable.
When the message from the highest levels of society is “if you can manipulate the system, you are above the law,” is it any wonder why everyday survivors struggle to come forward?
A Trail of Whispers and Victims
For a long time, I was one of those silent survivors. Coming from a background of childhood trauma, I carried the heavy, suffocating belief that no one would believe me. Abusers rely on that silence. They build their reputations on the assumption that our fear will always outlast their noise.
The person who assaulted me has a trail of victims. Ten that I am aware of.
Ten women who carry the weight of what he did. Two of us finally found the strength to step out of the shadows and go to the police last September 2025. We thought, we hoped, that our combined voices would finally force a crack in his armor. At first, it felt like momentum. It felt like justice was a real, tangible possibility.
But now it is June of the following year. It has been six months since I have heard a single word from the investigators. Six months of total, ringing silence.
Meanwhile, this man remains incredibly active in the local community, masquerading as a warrior against political corruption. He tries to point out injustice in politics and styles himself as someone who breaks down the system. He pushes boundaries to the point where he has even been banned from City Hall for making the town uncomfortable.
It is a sick, exhausting joke. He presents himself to the world as a rogue crusader fighting institutional corruption, yet he uses that very persona as a shield to hide his own horrific actions. He rails against a broken system while depending entirely on that system’s sluggishness to keep himself safe. Watching an abuser weaponize the language of "justice" while knowing exactly what he did in the dark doesn't just make you sick; it actively re-traumatizes you.
The Terror of the Invisible Weapon
What happened to me started as a consensual encounter. But consent is not a blank check, and it ended the exact moment he chose to use lethal force.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt hands tighten around my neck from behind. I fought to make it stop. I fought with everything I had, but I was not in a position to win this. As he continued to take me roughly from behind, my vision slowly began to fade into black. In those final seconds of consciousness, the only thought in my mind was:
I am going to die here.
I blacked out from the strangulation. The moment I lost consciousness, any baseline of a shared encounter was completely obliterated. I could not consent to sex while passed out, yet the violation continued while I was completely incapacitated. When I finally came to, there was no remorse. He brushed me off, walked out of the room, and left me alone with the wreckage.
Strangulation is often called the "invisible weapon" because it frequently leaves no external bruising, but its destruction is deeply etched into the survivor's mind and body. It is one of the most lethal forms of domestic and sexual violence, statistically, a survivor who is non-fatally strangled by a partner is 750% more likely to be murdered by them later.
The damage doesn't end when the hands let go. Non-fatal strangulation deprives the brain of oxygen, causing long-lasting trauma that ripples across a survivor's entire life:
Physical Effects: Hidden internal injuries including carotid artery damage, chronic headaches, swallowing difficulties, vocal chord damage, and a drastically increased risk of stroke days or even weeks after the event.
Mental & Cognitive Effects: The oxygen deprivation can cause mild traumatic brain injuries (TBI). Survivors often battle memory loss, severe confusion, and difficulty concentrating, symptoms that are frequently misdiagnosed as purely psychological, making it even harder to detail the assault to skeptical police officers.
Emotional & Psychological Effects: Extreme PTSD, panic attacks, severe depression, and the terrifying, recurring sensation of suffocating long after the physical danger has passed.
The System Must Change
Things take time, and legal processes are notoriously slow. I understand that. But there is a distinct, cavernous difference between a thorough investigation and administrative abandonment.
Leaving a survivor in total isolation for half a year without a single update is a systemic failure. It tells the abuser they are safe to keep hunting, and it tells the victim that their survival is an inconvenience to the state. It allows local agitators to keep playing their games in the public eye while their victims wait in limbo.
Something fundamental has to change in our government, our local institutions, and our legal frameworks. We need universal screenings for brain injuries and strangulation trauma within law enforcement and medical sectors so evidence isn't missed. We need mandatory victim advocacy updates so survivors aren't left drowning in silence. Most importantly, we need a system that stops letting abusers hide behind loud, anti-establishment theater.
To the other eight women out there, and I guarentee more, who were hurt by the same man: I see you. To the survivors of childhood trauma who are terrified that their pasts make them unbelievable: I hear you.
The system might be quiet right now, but we will not be. True justice isn't given to us by a slow bureaucracy, it is something we demand, out loud, until they have no choice but to listen.
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Well written Shannon. As a survivor a childhood abuse and beyond, and someone who has also run afoul of this particular "man," every word hit home. I stand by you and your/our fight for everywoman, man, or child out there that hasn't yet found their voice. This system that protects the perpetrators needs to change!
I was so proud of us for going to the police, but the lack of news, despite us reaching out with further evidence like direct messages from him admitting it and video of him admitting it...it's disgusting how the system treats survivors. Thank you Shannon for going with me, my situation was not as physically dangerous to my life, but I was affected alongside at least 8 other people, I have reports of upwards of 14 people he has mentally, physically, and sexually abused.
The police and the DA's office need to do their jobs. He was even re-banned from city hall and has stated in newspapers his intent to violate said legal action from the city trespassing him from…